


Some Mad Hope

by blueabsinthe



Series: A Room at the End of the World [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Dirty Talk, M/M, New York Rangers, Past Relationship(s), Rimming, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueabsinthe/pseuds/blueabsinthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steven wants to be the one to fall apart for once ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Mad Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not So Great Expectations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/743442) by [boltschick2612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612). 



> Title is from the Matt Nathanson album. 
> 
> Picks up where boltschick2612's [Not so Great Expectations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/743442) ends, but can be read as a stand alone, I think.

_At least you can play._

The five word text stares back at Steven from his phone, and it takes all his energy not to hurl his phone against the nearest wall. _Right, so now it's my fault you hurt your knee and are done for the season. What do you want me to do, Downs? I can't just snap my fingers, and magically fix you._

"I can barely fix myself," Steven mumbled, deleting the lines of text he had just typed out. He was frustrated. But, more importantly, he was tired. He was tired of losing. Tired of feeling like he had no control over his everyday actions. Tired of the expectations, and the pressure. 

He was too young for this shit. Too young to have the future of an entire hockey franchise on his shoulders. Too young to constantly have to live up to everyone else's expectations of what he should or shouldn't be. Too young to have to wonder if he would ever be someone if he never won the Cup. Everyone expected something from him.

And there was the word he was tired of hearing. 

Expected. It was expected of him to be the face, and the future of the Lightning organization. It was expected he would win another Rocket Richard trophy in his career. Expected to remain faithful to Steve Downie, even though he was in Colorado. He was expected to take Downie at his word that he wasn't sharing his bed with someone else. Expected … 

The syllables echo in his mind, and he stares blankly at his phone. The screen dark and blank. Steven wills it to blink, ring, anything. _Give me something, anything_ , he thinks, as he pushes the device between his hands, the soft scraping noises it makes across the countertop drowned out by the noises around him in the bar. After a few more minutes of moving his phone between his hands, Steven finally closes his hand around it, and gets to his feet. Screw this, he was going back to the hotel. 

He had barely gotten two steps away from his seat, when his eyes landed on a familiar face. Steven is reminded all too often about being with Michael. The feel of his hands running over his skin, like ribbons. His name falling from Michael's lips like scripture, like murmurs of holy orders.

His breath catches at the memory, and he spins back around, willing his mind to forget about Michael. He wills himself to stop thinking about Michael, and half-prays Michael has not noticed him. He stares down at the counter, phone gripped tightly in his hand. All the extraneous noise feels like it is swelling in his chest, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, if he emptied his lungs of all the air, he could breathe a little easier again. Except, he knows it is stupid to think like that. Michael's mere presence always makes breathing harder. 

He almost doesn't realize when Michael appears next to him, bumping his shoulder with his. Dark eyes bright, and youthful. Steven could get lost for days in them if he let himself. He could break down, all his jumbled thoughts spilling out of him like paint across a canvas. It would be so unexpected of him. 

And there was that damn word again. Steven was really beginning to hate that word, he realized.

"Hey, Stam. I didn't know you were here."

Michael's throaty voice felt like a caress against his skin. He finally allows his eyes to meet Michael's, and he tries to smile at his childhood friend, but Michael has always been keenly observant. 

"Something wrong, man?"

Steven lets his eyes fall away from Michael's then, and he stares at his silent phone. He shrugs, trying to keep it light, and stress free. He doesn't want to bother Michael with his problems, despite thinking how easy it could be to do exactly that. 

Before he can stop himself from saying too much, he finds the words leaving his mouth in a voice he barely recognizes as his own. When he does finally manage to look towards Michael, he finds Michael is staring at him, concern etched into the matching brown depths of his eyes. 

"You wanna talk about it?"

The sound of his phone beeping manages to reach his ears over the din of the crowded bar. He glances briefly at the screen, the words there a dull blur as Michael's question rings in his ear.

Steven flips the tiny button to silence the ringer on his phone, before he gets to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket. His eyes lock on Michael's. He wants to be the one to fall apart for once. He just wants to forget. 

"Let's get out of here, DZ."

Michael supposes he should have expected Steven to say something along those lines. His blue eyes feels like fire touching his skin as he watches Steven tuck his phone into his pocket. Something about Steven's tone of voice caused an all too familiar ripple of anticipation to run through Michael's veins. He tries to stamp it down, the urge harder to resist the longer he stood in the bar with Steven. 

Somehow he manages to find his voice, and he gestures for the exit with his head. "All right."

Michael thinks the first mistake he made was ever agreeing to leave the bar with Steven. But, as he stood on the curb, sending off a quick text to his companions to let them know he took off, he glanced briefly at Steven. Usually, Steven looked at ease in his surroundings, but currently he looked slightly skittish, as he shifted his weight and did his best to avoid eye contact with Michael. When their eyes did finally catch on the other, the look in Steven's eyes was one of unmistakable vulnerability. It made Michael's chest hurt, and it took all the willpower he possessed not to do something he would regret.

Michael hails a cab, and holds open the door, before he turns back to look at Steven, who still hadn't moved an inch from his spot. "My place?"

Wordlessly, Steven nods, before he climbs into the backseat. Michael sighs, before he gets into the cab and shuts the door. 

Somewhere between hurrying out of a cab, and the journey up in the elevator, it occurs to Michael this may be one of his more asinine ideas. But, as the elevator dings, and they slip into the elevator, Michael throws all opposing thoughts from his mind. 

The whole elevator ride up to Michael's was done in silence, save for the occasional rustling of their clothing as they shifted their weight. Steven couldn't seem to bring himself to look directly at Michael. He blamed it on nerves, except he wasn't exactly sure what it was he was nervous about. He kept skirting furtive glances at Michael, memories rushing back, flooding his system.

Michael's slim hand grips the side rail of the elevator. Steven can't seem to take his eyes off of it, remembering the feel of Michael's fingers in his hair, or skating down his sides as he touched him all those times in the past. 

Steven hears the chime of the elevator as it glides to a stop on Michael's floor. As they near Michael's apartment door, Steven nearly loses his nerve and tells Michael to just forget the whole thing. He wills his mouth to actually come up with the words, before the realization hit him. He really did not want to be alone right now. 

Michael led the way inside, waiting until Steven was inside before shutting the door with a click. Steven clears his throat, opens his mouth to speak, as he he turns to look at Michael.

Steven's heart is hammering loudly against his ribs, and he is almost sure Michael can hear it across the space separating them, as he watches Michael slowly make his way towards him. He feels exhausted then for some reason, and he tries to make a conscious effort to try and hide it from Michael. 

He almost doesn't realize when Michael reaches a hand out, his fingers curling around Steven's wrist, thumb brushing over the pulse point. "Come," Michael says simply, before he turns away from Steven.

Michael didn't check to see if Steven would follow him; he knew he would anyway. Neither of them speak until Steven sits down heavily on Michael's bed, his marble blue eyes looking up expectantly at him. 

Watching the range of emotions flicker in the depths of Michael's dark brown eyes brought the dark abyss of all the expectations he faced to the surface. Michael seemed intent on just watching Steven then. His dark eyes patient, yet probing. 

"I, um..." Steven starts, and stops, his whole body sags then. This time he doesn't hide it from Michael's watchful gaze. He notices the blanket Michael has on his bed is the one his grandmother made him. It makes his chest hurt, remembering how much she supported Michael over the years. It makes him think about all the support and expectations he has faced over the years. How he still has so much to live up to. 

He can't tear his eyes away from staring at the wall behind Michael's shoulder. Anything to stop his mind from conjuring up memories of laying naked in a bed with Michael, as his fingertips would trace the curve of Michael's ribs, tracing and retracing the lines like they were a map. He knew Michael's body so well. Knew where the scar from an old hockey injury lingered on his skin, to the scar marring Michael's side. Anything to stop him from pouring out his heart to his childhood friend. Except, he had kept his feelings bottled up inside too long, and now they just seemed to want to burst from his body like a volcano. He felt like he would go insane if he didn't get them out. It wasn't like the words weren't there. He could hear them underneath the shadow of doubt colouring his senses right now. 

"You?" Michael prompts. 

Michael's tone is laced with curiosity, but Steven senses an underlying vein of sympathy or pity in Michael's voice. 

Steven closes his eyes, dizziness and a haze of uncertainty overtaking him in that moment. "I … I can't think," he blurts out, before he buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking almost violently as he fights to regain some semblance of control.

Michael is there then, a warm hand pressed against Steven's spine, his voice the only thing Steven can hear for miles around. Even the constant hustle and bustle of New York City's streets don't seem to reach his ears in that moment. 

"Stammer," Michael starts, his hand running up and down Steven's back, chasing the tremors from his body. "Come on, breathe. Don't forget to breathe."

If he didn't feel like the weight of an entire franchise was on his shoulders, Steven was quite sure he would have some kind of sarcastic line ready. Instead, he finds himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The blankets are cool against the heated skin of his cotton dress shirt. The tremors have subsided somewhat, but he remains silent as he stares up at the ceiling tiles. 

When he finally does manage to find his voice, the words he does manage to conjure are the ones he never thought he would say. "1992, a hockey franchise is born in Tampa Bay … and somewhere on a frozen pond, its future celebrates his second birthday." He lets his eyes slide to Michael, who is eyeing him with something Steven never thought he would ever want to see from anyone. Especially his childhood friend. 

Michael's dark eyes are haunted. Steven can't tear his eyes from him, and he has to close his eyes as he breathes out his next sentence. "I don't need your pity, DZ."

Soundlessly, Michael moves to sit next to him. Steven thinks the way Michael moves in that moment is like watching him skate across the ice. Poetic, and slightly raw. "It's not pity, Stammer."

Steven can't take it anymore as he shakes his head, trying to dispel all the responsibilities and expectations of his life. "Do you know how often I've seen that ad? How high the expectations are? I'm expected to be the Lightning's future. The light at the end of the tunnel." His eyes flashed briefly with frustration, and he laughs bitterly. "Sometimes I wish I could just get lost in the crowd. No one recognizing me. No one wanting, or expecting anything from me."

The silence hangs between them like every unspoken thought Steven has ever had. He almost doesn't realize when Michael lays down next to him, the soft, spicy scent of his cologne and finely milled soap tickle Steven's nose. 

"You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Stammer."

"But I do -"

"No," Michael's voice is sharp in that instant, cutting off Steven's sentence. Michael makes his tone softer as he adds, "You choose to. We all have a job to do on the ice, yes, but all anyone wants is for us to enjoy what we're doing. That's all we can do, Stammer. The minute we stop enjoying that is when we should question things."

Steven is quiet for so long, Michael thinks he may have dozed off. He sighs, and turns onto his side, only to find Steven has done the same thing. The space separating them is minuscule at best, but it may as well be the width of the Holland Tunnel. The silence is back between them. It's an uncomfortable silence this time, though. Michael shifts in an effort to get more comfortable. They can't seem to tear their eyes from the other, and it causes all the air in Michael's body to catch. Steven is a mosaic print. All the sharp, uneven edges blocking out the extraneous details surrounding them. He wants to reach across the space, let his hand trail down Steven's side, watch as Steven would tremble under under his touch. But, Steven wasn't for him to touch anymore. Hadn't been for some time now. 

It is a particularly disquieting thought. It wasn't particularly unwelcome, but it threw Michael for a loop. He was dizzy, and half-high on the mere presence of Steven. For a moment, Michael wished Steven was still his to touch. If he was still his to touch, he'd reach out and press his hand to Steven's chest, his palm resting over Steven's heart. And, Steven would pull him across the space separating them, his mouth pressing against his throat, until Michael sighed out his name. 

"DZ?" Steven's voice pulling Michael from his thoughts. 

"Hm?" 

Steven's body is curled towards Michael. Michael's position is almost the exact same. Their foreheads almost touching. Michael can't help but think about how the curve of their bodies is like a circle. He can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Michael wants to look away, but he cannot seem to tear his eyes away from the hauntingly blue depths of Steven's eyes as they stare back at him. He tries to come up with reasons for why reaching out and touching Steven would not be such a bad idea. He comes up short. 

"Do you ever think about how different everything would be if …" Steven trails off, not wanting to voice the niggling thought he had been having ever since he ran into Michael earlier at the bar. Voicing the thought would bring unwanted memories and images of Downie into this room, and he just wanted to forget. Even if it was only for a night. For one night, Steven just wanted to forget about all the expectations set for him. 

Michael blinked, his thumb reaching out to stroke over the knuckles of Steven's hand. "Careful," he warns, "don't want to say something you'll regret later."

Steven's eyes snap up to meet Michael's. He could get lost for days in the depths of Michael's eyes if he so chose. And, right now, he couldn't think of any reason why it wouldn't be such an awful choice. Before he can pen another paragraph in his mind conjured cautionary tale, he is across the space separating them, mouth moving over Michael's, his hands pressing him into the mattress as he rolls so he is over top of him, lining their bodies up, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Michael lets out a small little gasp of surprise, his mouth falling open briefly, before he responds. They share breath, his hands running down Steven's spine, before he lets one hand rest on his hipbone. The other curling around the back of Steven's neck, his thumb brushing over the top of Steven's spine. Steven shifts atop him, and everything Michael has been trying to deny for the past little while all but bursts in his stomach.

"Stammer," Michael gasps as Steven pulls away slightly, his hands fisted in the front of his shirt. 

"Please," Steven whispers simply, teeth nipping at Michael's full, bottom lip. "Oh, please … DZ …" He grinds his hips down against Michael. "Make me forget … please. I need you to make me forget."

At first, Michael is eager to respond, as he reaches up, his hand curling around the back of Steven's neck again, bringing his mouth to his. The hand resting on Steven's hip tightens slightly, as he moans. 

It takes his mind a few more minutes to catch up to his body, and he finally manages to wrench his mouth away from Steven's. "Stammer," he chokes out, voice thick and lust fuelled. "Stammer, this is … I can't …"

"Sure you can," Steven whispers, mouth hovering over Michael's. "I know you want to. I can feel it." 

When Steven's mouth found Michael's again, it was insistent, an almost messy clash of teeth and tongues. Steven slid his lips down the side of Michael's throat, his teeth nipping at the soft juncture where neck meets shoulder. He could get fucking high off of the little gasps Michael let out. His hands moved hurriedly over Michael's clothing, fingers hastily undoing buttons and unzipping zippers. "Please, DZ. Come on, I need this. I need you to make me forget."

Michael was finding it harder and harder to think the longer Steven's fingers brushed over his skin. "Stammer," he chokes out. His stomach muscles tremble slightly as Steven's fingers brush over the bare skin. He grips Steven's upper arms tightly and pulls away. Michael manages to get into a sitting position, Steven astride his lap, as he shakes his head. "Steven, stop," he hisses, hands trembling slightly. "We can't."

Steven was all but deaf to Michael's protests, as he lowered his head to Michael's again. 

"Damn it, Steven, stop," he gasped out. His whole body shaking with the conscious effort not to kiss Steven senseless. To do exactly as he wanted him to. He could think of plenty of ways to help Steven forget, and the sheer force of will he was exerting right now was enough to kill him.

"I know you don't want to stop," Steven noted. "Come on, DZ." He brushed his lips across Michael's ear. "Please. I need to forget."

Michael let his head fall back against the wall, eyes trained on the ceiling. "You'll regret this if we let this go any further."

"For fucks sake, Michael, I'm not playing a game of fucking gay chicken here." Steven shrugged Michael's shirt down his arms, before he pulled Michael's face down to his, hands cupping his face. "I need you. You're the only one who can help me forget. What the hell are you resisting for, anyway?" Steven reached his hand down then, cupping Michael through his dress pants. "I know you want this."

Michael screwed his eyes shut, and let out a long string of curse words in broken English and Italian. "You're not mine anymore," he choked out. "We … we haven't been each other's in a long time." He nearly bit through his bottom lip as Steven palmed his dick through the material of his dress pants. 

"Michael," Steven whispers, tone pleading. "I don't even know who I am anymore." He lowers his head, mouth hovering over Michael's. "Please."

"You're upset, Steven, I get it," Michael said. "But, we … _I_ can't do this."

Steven's heart was hammering so hard against his chest, he was sure it would burst from his body at any second. "Please," he whispered one more time, lowering his head towards Michael's.

Michael turned his head at the last second, Steven's lips brushing against his cheeks. He forced the sensations down, as his fingers tightened on Steven's forearms. "Steven …" his voice trails off as he feels Steven's hands slide up his chest. 

"You have no problem doing this with anyone else, what makes it so different with me?"

"For crying out loud, Steven," Michael said, frustration in his tone. "It's not like that."

"Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it sure seems like that."

"Fucking hell." Michael's eyes were dark and furious. "Could you be any more oblivious, Stammer."

"You tell me, DZ. You're the one who seems to be creating all this distance between us."

"Damn it all to hell, Steven" - here, Michael's grip on Steven's forearms tightened almost to the point of pain - "I'm _trying_ here." 

Steven arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, you're trying at something that doesn't involve what you normally have no problem doing with anyone else."

Michael laughed, and shook his head fiercely. "You really have it all backwards, Steven."

"Do I?" Steven said.

"You really have no idea how much willpower it is taking me right now not to do anything."

Steven blinked, and he wrenched his arms free from Michael's grasp. "You're a bad liar, Michael." Wordlessly, he got to his feet, eyes blazing with anger. 

He barely managed to get two steps away from the bed, when he felt Michael closing the distance between them, his arms curling around Steven's waist from behind. Steven froze, his heart hammering rapidly against his chest, as he felt Michael's lips brush against his ear. Steven let his breath in and out slowly, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Steven …" Michael breathed, before he turned Steven around, his mouth moving over Steven's in the next instant. 

Steven felt all the breath in his body rush out, and he felt his body respond almost instantly. He was dizzy by the time Michael jerked him hard against him. Any residual doubt Steven may have had about Michael wanting him was gone almost as soon as their bodies lined up.

"Does this feel like I'm lying, Steven?" Michael whispered harshly. His dark eyes were assessing as they met and held Steven's across the space separating them. His thumb traced Steven's lips, and he watched as Steven nipped lightly at the tip of his thumb. Michael bit his bottom lip as electricity shot through his system. 

Even after all this time, Steven's mere presence still had an effect on him. Had it really been that long since Michael had resigned himself to mere memories of Steven? Steven's lips were still as soft as he remembered. His marble blue eyes still speaking volumes just by looking at him. Michael could get lost for days in them if he allowed himself the luxury.

"Michael …" Steven let his voice trail off as he leaned his head down, so he could nuzzle his cheek against Michael's chest. Michael was almost positive Steven could hear his heart as it hammered wildly against his chest. "Please …" Steven brushed his lips across Michael's collarbone, before he looked up, his hands coming up to cup his face. 

"Damn it all to hell," Michael murmured, before he had his hands tangled in Steven's hair, hauling Steven's mouth to his. Steven still kisses just as fiercely as Michael remembers, reminding him of long summer days by the Ontario lakes. He could get lost in the memories. Lazy, heated strokes of Steven's hand on his cock, touching him like they were the only two people that existed. And, the way lake water still clung to Steven's form as Michael took him in his mouth, relishing in the strangled little gasps Steven would make as he came in his mouth. 

The memories were maddening, and arousing. Michael's fingers tightened slightly in Steven's flaxen hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like sand, as his mouth moved over Steven's possessively. Steven whimpered against Michael's mouth, and his hands clung to Michael's shoulders, as he finally pulled away. Michael's teeth nipped suggestively at Steven's bottom lip. "You should stop this before it goes any further," he whispered.

"Not a chance," Steven said, his hands dropping to the button on Michael's pants. "I won't be able to stand it if you put anymore distance between us."

Michael laughed softly, his hands running over Steven's cheeks. "What distance, Steven?" His dark eyes were searing in intensity as they met Steven's. "There is none." Michael's hand slid down Steven's cheek, before he curled his fingers around the pale skin of Steven's throat. "Sometimes, it hurts to breathe when I remember what we were …" his voice trails off, as his hand travels down Steven's chest. Michael can feel Steven's skin burn through the cotton of his shirt. 

"Michael," Steven whispered, as Michael pulled his shirt up and over his head. His shirt ends up caught between their bodies, but Steven seems to forget about it as he winds his fingers into the hair at the nape of Michael's neck.

"Shh," Michael said roughly, before he hauls Steven's hips against him, and grinds restlessly. Steven drags Michael's head to his, whimpering nonsensical words against his mouth, as he quivers in Michael's grasp.

Wordlessly, Michael led Steven back to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. They stop in between kisses and frenzied touches to undress. Steven could get high off of kissing Michael. His mind wanting to commit every little touch and sound Michael made as their limbs tangled on the bed. The moonlight spilling in through the windows illuminating their limbs. Steven trembled as Michael's mouth moved over his shoulder, the fingers from one of his hand sliding down his form until he was curling them around Steven's heated flesh. 

"This is what you want," Michael said, eyes assessing as they watched Steven arch his neck, his head falling back, mouth half-open as a groan escaped him. Michael pressed a kiss to the shell of Steven's ear. "You can't get enough of me touching you. You ache for my hands on your cock. You crave it." Michael stroked Steven as he nipped at the soft skin of Steven's shoulder.

"Ah … Christ," Steven groaned, his breathing growing laboured, as his hips rose to meet Michael's hand. 

"Steven …" Michael's voice is thick and seems to be coming from all directions as he lets his mouth move over Steven's form. He licks a long, languid line up Steven's inner thigh. Michael can feel as Steven trembles under his mouth. Can hear the little gasps and whimpers that spill from his lips as he sucks and bites at the fleshy spots of his thighs.

It doesn't take long before Steven is spreading his legs further apart, Michael's name falling from his lips like a broken litany. At the first drag of Michael's tongue over his heated opening, Steven bites down on his fist in order to stop from screaming out. His legs shake with need, and his other hand has a death grip on the sheets. 

"Fucking hell, Michael," he chokes out. "Keep doing that. Fucking hell. Make me come."

Steven was out of his mind with lust and need as he felt Michael's mouth close over his cock. Michael's mouth moved over him in a practiced rhythm, his tongue running over the underside of Steven's dick. He pulls away when he senses Steven is close.

Ignoring the volley of curse words Steven throws at him for stopping, Michael sits back on his heels, before he pulls the drawer open on his bedside table. 

Michael's hands fumble for a moment on the bottle of lube, and he nearly drops it when he sees Steven sliding his index and third finger from his mouth, before they are pushing into his own ass, his eyes screwed tightly shut, as he keeps whispering over and over for Michael to hurry.

"Easy there, Steven," Michael says, voice sounding all fucked up with need, as he rips the corner on the condom wrapper.

Steven catches Michael's wrist, his eyes a fiery blue as he shakes his head. "Not this time." He slides the packet from Michael's fingers, before he reaches for the lube. 

Michael is still, his dark eyes not leaving Steven's as he feels Steven curl a slick hand around his cock. "But …"

"I want it like this," Steven says, voice rough. The way Steven said the words, and the way he was looking at him was more than enough to convince Michael it was pointless to deny him. More importantly, Michael was quite sure he could never deny Steven of anything.

Michael slid Steven's legs further apart, before he pushes in. His movements are unsteady at first, and agonizingly slow. Steven is tight around him, and so unbearably hot Michael is surprised he doesn't lose it almost right away. 

It doesn't take long before Steven is moving against him, trying to meet Michael's thrusts as he manages to hook his legs around the backs of Michael's calves. 

"Hurry, please … hurry," Steven pleads, his fingers digging into Michael's forearms. 

Steven was utterly consumed with Michael. From the way his fingers moved over his skin, like he was trying to commit every nuance of Steven to his memory. Then there was the way he stared unguardedly at Steven, his eyes matching dark depths of need.

"Steven," he whispered, one hand moving over Steven's cock in fluid movements. 

Steven was sure he saw Michael's arm shaking with the effort to keep most of his weight off of him. "Michael... please," Steven practically sobbed, his nails digging harder into Michael's arm. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, as he rocked his hips up to meet Michael's.

"Steven, look at me," Michael whispered, mouth hovering over Steven's. His movements inside Steven had stopped, and he seemed content to just wait until Steven did as instructed.

Only when he finally caught and held Steven's gaze, did Michael allow himself to tumble and fall over the precipice.

Steven felt a rush of heat inside him, and he groaned, before he let himself come, coating both their stomachs in sticky, white heat.

Michael finally did collapse against Steven, his breathing ragged against Steven's ear. "There's no distance between us."

"Even after all this time?" Steven managed to get out.

Michael's dark eyes were full of vulnerability as he looked at Steven. "Always."

Steven brushed the hair off of Michael's face. His blue candy floss coloured eyes trained on Michael as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You never stopped being mine," he confessed. 

Michael blinked, and stared down at Steven. His dark eyes a storm of emotions. He was utterly bereft of speech at Steven's words.

"You don't have to say anything," Steven says, curling his arms around Michael's neck, pressing a light kiss to Michael's lips.

Michael wakes several hours later, Steven asleep beside him. The silence is deafening, but he may as well have been standing in Madison Square Garden at centre ice waiting for the puck to drop. He brushes his fingertips over Steven's knuckles, as he tries to keep the reminder that Steven would be gone tomorrow at bay. 

And, he can't stamp down the feeling of uncertainty as he rests his hand over top of Steven's.

"What will become of us?" he whispers into the dark.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/816216) by [boltschick2612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612)




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